Hazel Eyes
by LETHALove
Summary: Dexter and his brother, Brian, are both after a sexy killer. But is she the one on their trail?
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

To offer some information to the situation given would be suggesting that you've never watched Showtime's _Dexter _before or read the book series by Jeff Lindsay. I'm not suggesting this. In fact, you, the reader, may be a huge fan of the show. Either way, this situation is unlike a normal fan fiction story that takes the story given in the show and expands. I'm also not saying that I don't do this, because I do. But I did dabble with the storyline somewhat.

For readers who have already read the series or seen the popular television show, you can skip this paragraph, because this is just to explain who Dexter is for the people who don't know. Dexter is a vigilante serial killer who works for the Miami Metro PD as blood splatter analyst. He's life is greatly influenced by his "dark passenger" who drives him to kill. As a child, he watched his mother's death and sat in her blood for two days before he and his brother (Brian) were found. A cop took Dexter into his home and saw how his life was traumatized by this event, so therefore, he taught him a code. It was to only kill killers who don't abide by the code and to clean up after his mess. In the show, he reunites with his brother, but has to kill him because although he is a killer too, Brian doesn't follow the code.

This is what I did differently: First of all, I do realize that in the show, Brian's "home" as a child was a mental hospital. Not in this case. Here, he had to fend for himself as he lived on the streets after he escaped the mental hospital (he had stayed for a year before deciding this "treatment" wasn't for him). Brian and Dexter did reunite in this case, but not because of Deborah. In fact, Deborah doesn't exist in this story. When Harry (the officer that took Dexter in) adopted him, it was because him and his wife were having trouble conceiving a child. Therefore, Dexter was an only child.

When Brian and Dexter met, there was no "kill this person and come with me" kind of business. It was talking. Curiosity. Dexter couldn't imagine killing him, because he feels that Brian is all he has left. Brian and Dexter don't live together, but they spend a lot of time together. They also don't kill together, due to the different methods they have. Nobody knows about Dexter's brother except for, of course, Dexter and Brian. Rita does exist in this story, along with Cody and Astor, but they don't play major roles. They are just close friends of Dexter. They did (in my story) used to date, though, but broke up due to personality differences.

In other words, my story differs greatly from the show. But I like the thought of Brian staying alive, and how different Dexter would've been. Even in the books Brian stays alive. But here, I take it to a greater level. Here, he is completely and totally part of his life.

I do realize that a lot of people don't appreciate fan fiction. Some say it's because they drive way off the story line and change it completely, and some say it's because of copyright issues. To make this clear, I don't own anything here. I am not affiliated with Showtime in anyway, nor am I the owner of these characters, with the exception of one or two that I have added to the story to put different dimensions in the perspective given by the producers and creators of the show/books. Whatever you think of fan fiction, I hope that you will read this story until the end and think about it differently than you did before (in a good way!).

**Dedication**

I dedicate this story and all the ideas that come with it to the makers of, actors of, actresses of, and anyone affiliated with _Dexter. _This is an outstanding, life changing thought - to look into the eyes of a serial killer. So, thank you.


	2. Chapter One

**Emptiness: The state of containing nothing; not occupied or inhabited **

**NOUN**

** Synonyms - Bare, blank, clean, devoid, vacant, vacuous **

**LACKING CONTENTS WHICH COULD OR SHOULD BE PRESENT**

Everyone around me is happy. Smiles and grins are dancing around like as if merriment really is contagious. Content is floating through the air like a damned disease, and I seem to be immune. Even so, I can't understand why everyone is in such a good mood. The warm, semi-clean sand, aside from the broken beer bottles and damaged soda cans, the alcohol being passed around, the heat-packed sun: it's all the perfect formula for a great day on the South Miami Beach. Contrary to the popular standing, I wasn't here for that. As difficult as it is, I ignore the stench of green-apple Smirnoff and the loud Cuban music booming from the radios, and instead, keep my focus locked on a particular woman. She's wearing a black floppy hat, and a bright Pepto-Bismol colored bikini, with a see-through white t-shirt. She looks… designer. I can't tell with her dark sunglasses on, but it seems as though she's asleep. Apparently, we both have a thing for ignoring the Spanish-party glory around us.

Someone bumps into me from behind, lurching me forward somewhat, ruining my perfect yoga position. I glance behind me and a small dark-haired and dark-skinned boy passes me a wave and murmurs a quiet 'Lo siento' before turning back and running to catch up with his friends. I continue watching the kids play, wondering how they could have so much energy in this scorching heat. I suppose kick-the-can can be very entertaining, nevertheless, addicting. After a few seconds, I finally tear my eyes away from the children and look back to the woman. She's unmoved, unchanged from before, and yet, all around us change is happening. The fast-paced Cuban music has slowed somewhat and the sun is beginning to set. The heat still remains, but the two or three degree cooler difference can be felt. I look back again, expecting the kids to still be playing, but find myself mildly surprised when I see them packing up with their mothers to leave. Of course - the night is no place for children to play.

I turn back once more towards the young woman, and still, she hasn't budged an inch from her starting position. I stare for what seems like hours, though one quick glance at my watch tells me it's only been a few minutes. She's so… interesting. The curves on her body are perfect, as if sculpted by God himself. Then again, God doesn't play in this game. Her dark hair flows flawlessly amongst her shoulders, the curls adding life to her so very innocent look. Her light skin sets her apart from most people in Miami. Obviously not Cuban for the most part, and if she was, then her pale skin was a great way of hiding it.

The research I have done on her has turned up a lot of... dead results. Her name is Hazel Carter, 23 years old. No records on her until the age of 17, and it was just for a simple parking ticket. Other than that, she's mysteriously clean. No family that I know of, and no record of how she spends all her free time. She doesn't work, but some evidence hints that she comes from a family with a lot of money. She's lived here most of her life, but I found an article about her birth in New York. Although my research turned up some uninteresting results, I do have reason to believe that she's like me. Maybe almost exactly like me.

I was on one of my nightly stalking missions. I was watching a serial killing car dealer who had a thing for stabbing women to death and then leaving their bodies on the side of the road to rot. He was in his home with a woman, and I was watching cautiously through his open window. It looked suspicious, and this made me sort of excited. Would I get to see with my own eyes him killing a woman? Or would I have to play the hero and save her?

I watched, motionless, as he raised a knife behind her head while she was practically climbing onto his body, kissing every inch of skin she possibly could. I could see her hand slip into her jean pocket. She raised a needle and injected it into his neck, and he immediately fell to the ground. I watched as amazement and confusion flooded my mind and I couldn't know what to do. Should I leave now that I know that someone else got to him before I could? Or should I stay and watch to make sure she follows the code? Or, if she was even going to kill him or not?

Words of stupefaction escaped my lips as I watched her demon dance with mine in secrecy. She killed him according to the code. Cleaned up the mess afterwards, then disposed of his body by burning it piece by piece in a fire pit. Then, she collected some ashes and put it in a golden heart-shaped locket which she wore around her neck. The rest of the ashes she washed down the sink. I watched her and followed her throughout this astonishing process. It was all so... beautiful.

And so, I had to know more. Who she was, where she came from... I had to know. Research didn't turn up anything too interesting, even after I asked for Brian's help. He advised me to watch her, and to make sure that she cleaned up after her mess. I was surprised that he even told me to do this, considering that he didn't abide by my code. Nevertheless, I'm doing what he says. And while I'm at it, I'm accepting lessons from the hands of a master.


	3. Chapter Two

**Acceptance: The act of receiving or believing**

**NOUN**

** Synonyms - Acknowledgement, approval, assent, compliance, recognition, undertaking**

**COULD ALSO MEAN THE TOLERATION OF SOMETHING UNWANTED **

I am sitting at my desk, looking over the Pierce Boat case, and flipping through some papers within the folder. Look at this bloody mess. I hate blood. I'm a neat monster, and I'm careful to never get caught, unlike this guy. He wasn't wearing a pair of gloves and he left his weapon at the scene of the crime. It was all too easy to pull DNA samples such as hairs to the cloth he used to wipe the blood off the knife, and fingerprints from the handle. People like Jason Pierce makes us killers look like crazy psychos. And he also makes us boaters look like sloppy trash. What a bad reputation he has built for people like me. A knock on my desk makes me put the papers down and glance up. It's the all so "welcomed" Doakes. I glance back down with a small smirk and flip a page in the case.

"Morgan, put the fucking case away. It's done," Doakes spits out at me. From the corner of my eye, I can see his stone-cold face as he crosses his arms, looking down at me. I glance up, and close the case, waving it in the air a bit.

"You never know, I mean, the guy is still missing…" But of course, thanks to dearly devoted Dexter, he won't be for long. Doakes growls at me and I raise an eyebrow, placing the case down on my desk. "What can I do you for?"

"Do you have the analysis finished for the blood found at Welkin's house?" he asks, with slight tension in his voice. I nod and hand him a tan-colored folder that had been lying on my desk for a few days.

"Wondering when you'd ask me about that," I tell him nonchalantly. He narrows his eyes at me in disdain.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" he snarls at me.

I give him a smug smirk and ask, "What did you think I meant?" I see him clench his fist as he scowls at me.

"What the _fuck _is wrong with you?"

I shrug with a concealed grin. "You're the one in my face right now." He leans in close to me, his hot breath hitting my face as he whispers a subtle warning.

"There's something fucking screwy with you, and I intend to find out." He wrinkles his nose at me, then shivers, like as if he's looking at a dead body. With one last snicker, he walks away.

Well, that confrontation was... interesting. Not that that doesn't happen daily. In fact, I think that's the second time today that Doakes and I have had... odd conflicts. It sets me on edge just to think that Doakes in\s onto me. Kind of makes me want to... no. Not even possible. I can't break the code. Not unless if I find something in Doakes' past that makes him worthy of my work. That makes him worthy of my offer for an escape...


	4. Chapter Three

**Escape: Break free from confinement or control; to elude or get free from**

**VERB **

**Synonyms - Abscond, slip away, bolt, break free**

**SUCCEED IN AVOIDING SOMETHING DANGEROUS**

Discrepancies between myself and Brian make the world seem flat to me. According to Harry, he fits the code. He deserves to die. He kills unethically. His only excuse is that he can't help it. It's who he is. Know what the weird thing is? That's my excuse too. So if we both have the same excuses, what does it matter who we kill or how we kill them? The point is that we kill at all.

I unlock the door to my apartment, trying to shake all the confusing thoughts out of my head. I step inside, closing the door behind me, then tuck away my keys into my pocket. I turn around, the darkness engulfing my eyes. I flip on a switch next to me, and any exhaustion I had from work instantly vanishes when I see my brother standing in front of me. Thanks to my trained nerves of steel, I don't jump, but I can't help but flinch.

"Hello, brother," Brian tells me with a small, inconspicuous smile. "Have you decided what you're going to do with Hazel yet?" I let out a deep breath and place my bag on the desk to my right, walking past him, annoyed that he invaded my privacy without my permission. I dismiss the slight anger with the thought that he is my brother after all.

"Not yet." I reply, watching him closely out of the corners of my eyes. He sits down on my office chair and points towards a peach folder which lay closed on my desk. I turn towards him with a sigh.

"Well, I found an interesting file about her which might be useful for your escapade," he says, turning the folder towards me. I put one hand on the desk, then lean in to see what he found. As I open the folder, Hazel's name at the very top listed as a patient for a mental hospital named _H__ospital __O__f the __P__sychologically __E__xonerated _stares me in the face. Hope? What an unusually optimistic name for a mental asylum. "Read it," Brian tells me, and with a slightly curious look, I do what he says. A picture comes into view next to her name of a sweet, innocent-looking little girl, maybe eight or nine years old. She had brown eyes and light brown hair. Her face screamed 'hopeless' which made the name of the mental hospital even more ironic.

As I continue reading, I learn more and more about her than I could've learned by stalking her for years. This folder laid out her entire life for me to examine, dissect, and discover things that doctors and nurses were too oblivious to realize. After reading through it once, (which took me quite a while due to the many pages the file contained) I read through it a second time. Once I was finished, I lied the folder down on the desk and looked towards Brian with a content and slightly surprised face.

"_You _found all of this on her?" I asked cautiously. He nodded while tapping the desk with his fingers.

"Benefits of being an amputation doctor. We get access to all medical files on record," he says. "_All _of them. And besides, your my brother... thought I should help out." I nod and hold back a tired yawn, glancing inconspicuously at the clock. Almost 10:30. Ugh.

"You definitely have..." I drift off, staring down at the folder beneath me on my desk. He smiles slightly, then almost jumps in his seat.

"Oh! And I also found this..." he says, handing me another folder that was underneath my laptop. I open the folder and see a long list of names and with them, occupations, phone numbers, addresses, and more. I shrug and then look towards him.

"What is this?"

"That, my friend... is gold." After looking down for a second with a distant look, he eyes towards me again and then continues. "Or, you can also call it Hazel's contact list. And... I cross referenced. Many of those people in that list have been missing. Suspicious?" He shrugs. "I think so." I nod in agreement and read through the list, assuming that the names highlighted are the people who are missing.

"I agree." After reading through the list, I look up at him with a thankful nod. "Uh... thanks. This is... _really _helpful." He bites his lip and then leans in towards me.

"What do you say we go stalk this Ms. Kingston tonight?" he whispers. I don't know why he's whispering, but once I reply, I find myself whispering as well.

"I say it's a go. Just let me go change first." I go to my bedroom and quickly put on some dark clothes, slipping my cell phone out of my pocket and placing it on the dresser. Probably won't be needing it. Brian and I don't kill together, we don't stalk our victims together; and yet, here we are about to go stalk a pretty, young lady who is just like us. I have a feeling he's not doing this because he wants to hang around with me and help out, though. Of course, that could be _partially _his interest. But really, I think he has fancy for Hazel. He's not completely apathetic as I am, obviously. But I never thought I'd see my - as weird as it is to say - older brother having a crush. It's... an odd feeling. Nevertheless, in some strange way, it feels familiar. It feels... comforting.

I step out of my bedroom, ready to go, wearing my Dark Passenger as my mask. Brian nods at me and we leave my apartment, then get in his car. As he starts turns on his car, Beethoven starts playing in his car. I shoot him an odd look and he smiles innocently. "Have some taste in music, brother." I narrow my eyes at him, still not saying a word and he sighs and turns off the stereo. "Fine, fine. You win... this time." As he's driving, I can't help but examine his car a bit. Neat, like always. Nothing out of place. "Think she'll be at her house?" Brian asks, interrupting my thoughts suddenly, which, makes me jump ever so slightly. He notices and quirks an eyebrow at me. "You alright?"

I nod and take a deep breath. "Yeah. Just... on a sharp edge."

"The monster's edge..." he says quietly.

I look out my window, and then sigh. "Don't think she'll be at home tonight," I say with a low voice. Brian chuckles, then turns into her neighborhood. Modest houses, pretty average.

"Oh? Why?"

"She likes to stay out at night, sleep during the day. Like an owl." I tell him as we pull up to a curb, a few houses away from hers.

"Well... if she's not home, we can just snoop. See if she has something to hide."

We step out of the car and I slip on my slick leather gloves that I had been squeezing tightly in palms. He slips on his as well and we walk slowly, out of sight, to her house. Once there, we see all the lights are off, except for one on the second floor. A shadow passes by the window, signaling us that she's there. We look towards each other with anxious faces.

"She's home. What do you want to do?" Brian asks me. Before I can respond, I notice a window open on the bottom floor, leading to what seems to look like the living room. It takes me a second before I can reply to his question. Some part of me was hesitant. Some part of me - the small, subtle good part - didn't want to do this. Just before I think of a smart answer, we both see two shadows come into view in front of the window. One looked like a strong, muscular man, and the other I suspect was Hazel. I tap his shoulder, signaling for him to follow me as I walk up to the side of the house quietly and climb in through her open window, reassuring myself that this was worth watching.

We both slip inside, so far undetected, and I motion for Brian to lead us upstairs. My feet felt like they were weightless, floating lightly above the ground with every small step I took. My breathing slowed to a quieter pace and so did Brian's as we inched our way closer and closer. We hung out at the top of the stairs, watching what was happening in the bedroom through the barely cracked-open door and the mirror in the hallway. I remind myself that she can see us through the mirror if she happens to look our way, but relief flows over my body when I realize that there is a small chance she would see us from so far away with the vision problem she has.

Brian and I watch closely, crouching and then lying on the uncomfortable carpet. We see the man lie down on the bed, pulling her on top of him so that she is straddling his waist. They are talking and laughing, but she doesn't seem to notice his hand resting on her upper thigh or his occasional kisses to various parts of her body. Although they were fully clothed, I felt slightly awkward watching all of this. Suddenly, laughter bursts out from the both of them as he flips her over so that she is beneath him and he starts tickling her. It all seems so odd. This behavior contradicts what I usually see from her, which is blank space. Emptiness. A wave of apathy. Perhaps she wears her mask well around her victims. Just. Like. Me.

Brian nudges me with his elbow and points to the man's back. When I squint, I can see words on his shirt. _Miami Metro Fire Department: Firefighter of the Year 2010 - James Mitchell_. Never thought of a t-shirt as a gift that the "firefighter of the year" should receive, but I don't think like normal humans, so, I could be alien when it comes to the thought. But now I have a name and a place of work for this mysterious man, which, in fact, could help a lot if he's going to be her next victim. After all, what kind of killer would work undercover as a firefighter? Maybe she's not as much like me as I thought. I nod at Brian and point back downstairs. As quiet as we can be, we tip-toe down the long flight of stairs and without even speaking to each other about what to do next, we individually look start looking through her things in silence.

After about ten minutes, our paths cross and we discover that we haven't found anything. Her place is neat. Very neat. In this aspect, she is like me. No trace of evidence or anything of that nature. Her computer was locked with a passcode, disabling me from getting in. She cleans up after her mess. After a few more minutes of quiet whispers between myself and my brother, we escape through the window and back outside, where talking seems accepted now. As we trail our way back to his car, I notice a nice-looking home for sale right next to her house and I think of Brian. He doesn't have a set 'home'. He insists that he needs to keep on the move, so every two months, he'll move from apartment to apartment. To me, it seems like a lot of pointless trouble to go through.

"Hey, didn't you say you needed a place?" I say to him, feeling like my voice is booming throughout all of Miami. He glances over to wear I am looking and laughs.

"Don't think I would want to get that close to her..." he says, and I swear, if you look close enough, there might be enough blush in his cheeks to signal he may actually have... feelings for Hazel. It may even be... love. Hm. It's odd from my perspective, but I'm sure his conscience self doesn't realize he feels that way yet. Nevertheless, he will find out soon. Especially when we get to confronting her. Wait... we? Since when did that come into the picture?


	5. Chapter Four

**Love: An intense feeling of deep affection; a deep romantic or sexual attachment to someone**

**NOUN**

** Synonyms - Affection, fondness, passion, adoration, a liking**

**A CONNECTION**

I yawn loudly as I flip through the files one more time. I swear, for a file this big, it's easily memorizable. I push the file towards him and he looks up from the file he has in his hand.

"Think it's suspicious that the files for the _one _psychopathy test they finally did with a polygraph went missing around the same time that she did?" I ask him, putting my pen down onto the desk. He looks at the open file for a second and then nods, leaning back in his chair again.

"She probably saw it came out positive and figured it'd better if they didn't see it."

"Clever..." I say, drifting off.

He shrugs and then leans as far back in his chair as he can, stretching and yawns. "Yeah. You have to give her some credit, she's very smart about protecting herself even when she was taught by her father to not even try." I nod and then frown when I review her pictures again. Almost like a before and after picture. One when she had just gotten admitted and another almost right before she took off. I slide my chair next to his and point to the two pictures which I have laid out side by side.

"Look... she has two different eye colors in these pictures... in the first, her eyes are brown and in the other her eyes are-"

"Green," he says, finishing my sentence. "Colored contacts? I mean, she _is _pretty much blind. Maybe she got tired of people pointing it out to her all the time." I nod and then remember a passage in her mental diagnosis about her 'not liking attention'.

"Agreeable." It's pure silence for a while until I notice that my brother is still staring at her pictures. "What? Found something else?" I ask innocently.

He, surprisingly, jumps, not looking me in the eye like he usually does when he answers my question. "N-nope. Just... just thought I'd take another look..." I throw the papers that are in my hands on the desk gently and look towards him with a flat face.

"I don't buy it," I tell him with a low voice. He shrugs and keeps looking through the files he has.

"Don't buy what?"

I narrow my eyes at him and slowly pull the papers out of his hands and put them on the table. "If you can't tell me what's going on, she's going to be _my _kill. Not yours." He frowns and looks up at me with almost desperate eyes. This was a threat he didn't like.

"Dexter, we all have our human side of us. Even the apathetic ones like you. I am sexually attracted to her. It's just nature. She's hot. I can't help that. And I can't help that some of my body parts like her more than others. I find her... alluring. And I'm surprised you don't." I listen to his full statement, sort of... in a daze that he answered my request for information so specifically. An awkward silence floated among us for a while and I shifted in my seat uncomfortably.

I had to dwell on the idea. Was it possible for me to be... 'sexually attracted' to her? She was beautiful beyond belief, and that alone would spark any guy's attention. But I'm not just 'any guy'. I am indifferent. Too apathetic to even give her a second glance as far as looks. But... she wears such a perfect mask. And people at work are starting to get suspicious... especially Doakes. It'd be good if I brought a little normal into my picture. I could bring her by work to show her off, and I'm sure she wouldn't mind. Wait, am I seriously thinking about this?

I shift again in my seat and sigh. "Can you search James Mitchell on the computer?" Brian asks me, pointing towards my laptop hidden under the scattered papers on the desk.

I nod and pull my laptop out, then place it in front of me, opening it. The search engine for the criminal database opens with a click and I type in his name quickly. A few seconds later, three words pop up on my screen. NO RESULTS FOUND. I sigh and then exit out and pull out the general search engine, then repeat my process. Just a few moments later, his name and information pops up along with a picture, verifying that it is him that we were looking at. "Well, she isn't a vigilante, as far as I know," I finally say.

"Mitchell isn't a criminal?"

"No. Well, as far as the criminal database knows. He has no criminal history whatsoever. Not even a parking ticket." I continue looking through his records, surprised at how sparkly clean he is. Somehow, I'm disappointed. I had almost... hoped that she was a vigilante like me. A dark protector. "He worked as a volunteer firefighter while he went to college... then took on the full career once he got his degree in Safety. He's lived in Miami his entire life... and is _too _clean..." I drift off, squinting my eyes at my laptop.

"What do you mean?"

"No paper trail. No current car registered, no house, no... anything, really. Just his education and work history." Hm. Now what's wrong with that picture?

"Rental car and apartment?" Brian asks, putting his files down to look at me. I shake my head and sigh.

"No... you have to sign documents for rental cars... and you have to pay monthly for an apartment."

"That's... odd. No records? Like he's trying to hide his real life." I narrow my eyes, shutting my laptop closed and look up at Brian, trying to sort out my thoughts. "And maybe... our Hazel knows a little something about his real life outside of work."

Nodding, I yawn and look at the clock. "You're probably right. But, it's getting late, and even blood splatter analysts need their sleep." He stands up, nodding.

"I'll see you tomorrow... same place, same time?" His words remind me that I don't have work tomorrow. A good thing, considering I wouldn't want to show off the dark circles under my eyes to everyone and have to explain what I was up to the night before. Always an annoying thing to do.

"Definitely." He nods and leaves, finally bringing silence upon my apartment. I clean up all the folders and files, tucking them neatly in my leather bag, then head to my room and change into some night clothes. I fall asleep almost as soon as my head hits the pillow.


End file.
